Falling and Flowers
by Dragongrrl7
Summary: prompt: "'i found you sleeping on my balcony when i went out to water my plants why are you here and more importantly how did you get here we're eighteen floors up"-James lands on Muggle Lily's balcony one morning. Rated M for language only; no smut.


'i found you sleeping on my balcony when i went out to water my plants why are you here and more importantly how did you get here we're eighteen floors up' au

From a prompt by tumblr user theappleppielifestyle

James Potter was in something of a situation.

He was a capable flyer, everyone knew that, and he'd assumed that that night would be no different. So, of course, he'd taken nothing but his wand, cloak, and broomstick to go out, sailing through the night air over London.

He'd been doing loops around Big Ben (highly illegal, of course) when an owl smacked him in the face. James veered dramatically off course, overcorrecting just in time to keep himself from smacking into a building, and straightened himself up just as a feather began to tickle his nose.

_Oh, fuck. _He sneezed, broom still wobbling scarily under him, and took a nosedive, just barely pulling up above an extremely shocked lorry driver. The broom began to stop shaking, but as James cheered, he smacked directly into a balcony, falling hard to the one below it and blacking out. The last thing he remembered was losing his grasp on his broomstick.

Now, James was waking up on a balcony. He had no idea where he was. He was shaking from the cold. His wand was nowhere to be seen, and neither was his broom. _My broom! Fuck! _He stood up quickly and promptly fell over again, hitting his head (again) on a potted plant.

Weary and frustrated, he sat up slowly and looked around, taking stock of his surroundings. He was on a grey cement balcony with a metal railing. The sounds of a busy street washed over him from below, and James winced as he remembered his broom. To each side of him were large pots full of plants, none of which he recognized.

Slowly, he stood up, this time managing to stay upright. He turned to see a glass door, and squinted to look through the sun's reflection. Standing inside was someone with red hair who wasn't wearing any pants. _Oh, fuck. _

He rushed towards the door and knocked. The person inside leapt backwards and ran into a chair, falling over, and James nearly fell over himself as his balance failed him. Now he could peer in through the glass, and gratefully admired the person's long legs and long red hair in the two seconds before she stood up and started yelling at him.

"What the hell are you doing on my balcony? How did you get up there? Just fucking leave, please!"

"I can't!" James yelled through the glass. "Cars! Road!"

She flipped him off enthusiastically with both hands. "Figure it out!"

Resigned, James sat down again. "I'll wait," he called. He could see her glowering at him through the glass.

She stomped out of the room and returned with pants on.

_Damn it. _James sighed.

"You can come in," she called through the glass, "but I've got mace and a lot of knives. Don't try anything."

James stood up, slowly, and nodded, slowly. "We'll be fine. I'm not armed. I promise."

"True, but you are dressed like a total lunatic," the girl snapped as she pulled the door open.

"Ah. Um." _Fuck. _"This is. Well. I was at church."

"By which you mean a cult, correct?" She wasn't smiling.

"I'm not sure if you're joking or not."

"I never joke." She pointed to a large green armchair at the corner of the room, which was sparsely furnished, with no windows but the glass door. Plants were clustered around that as well.

"Ah, I see. You never joke, but you answer the door in your underwear and let strange men into your house. A very serious life, I see."

She stared at him. "A very serious case of bad judgment, I see. Who the hell is on an eighteenth-story balcony at this time of the morning?"

"What time is it, anyway?"

"Like seven," she sighed. "I wanted to water my plants before work."

"That's sweet of you. I'm sure they appreciate it." She opened her mouth as if to speak. "Where do you work?" he asked, before she could yell at him again.

"None of your beeswax, balcony boy."

"Fine. Fair enough. How am I going to get home?"

"How did you get here?"

"I—genuinely don't remember." James remembered falling off the broomstick, and where he lived (and who he was), but he had no idea how to get back there.

"Wow. Good job." This time James could tell she was being sarcastic. "I need to go put real clothes on."

"Those clothes are entirely too real for me," James quipped.

"Rude, uncouth, inappropriate. Try again."

James raised his eyebrows at her quick response. "I will."

A few minutes later, she came out of the hallway wearing jeans and a warm flannel shirt, beautiful red hair pulled back low on her neck.

"All dressed up, just for me? At least tell me your name first."

"Lily. Like a flower, which is why I'm dressed up. Um. I take care of flowers." She blushed, and James grinned.

"Nice to meet you, Lily. I'm James."

"Hi, James. Can you get out of my house, please?"

TO BE CONTINUED


End file.
